The Deep Dark Angst Of Elliot Reid
by SkinnyLittleSlut
Summary: It took JD a month to realise the deep groves running across her bony legs weren't mattress indents from the constant naps she took. Then again, it took her two to realise the red stains up JD's scrubs weren't actually a patient's blood. PART 1. Elliot Angst, Suicidal Themes, Dark. ElliotxJD pairing.


**I don't know where this story came from. This is Part 1-Elliot's point of view. It's very dark and angsty, and very triggering. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs**

JD didn't smile as much anymore.

In a way, she was glad. Facing that smile full of hope every single day... The marriage wouldn't have lasted a year. Sure, they still smiled. Socially. Smiling seemed like a pointless chore. A social convention forced upon them. Personally, it made her face ache.  
She used to smile when she worked at Sacred Heart. The smile was effortless then, which was ironic, as she had claimed her internship and residency had been the worst times of her life.  
JD used to smile when he worked there, too.  
Turk helped enormously.  
She had been eager to be rid of him, honestly, when they moved.  
That was before she realised how much effort JD really took.  
After a few months, she just stopped trying.  
And so did he, in a way.  
She flicked the flame up from her lighter, igniting the cigarette between her lips.  
A doctor, smoking. She could practically taste the hypocrisy along with the nicotine she inhaled.  
Then again, a doctor with an eating disorder was pretty hypocritical, too.  
Two, if you counted JD.  
She remembered a time where JD had been..well, fat.  
Fat to her, anyway.  
In reality, he was barely even chubby.  
But her constant digs about his weight as she dropped pound after pound obviously fucked with his mind, because he just stopped eating.  
Not completely, of course. Because he was still alive.  
But a noticeable amount.  
And he must have lost at least 60lbs, because these days, he looked skeletal.  
Like her.  
She supposed she felt vaguely guilty for fucking him up majorly.  
But then again, she was mostly glad that she had someone to suffer through it all with.  
Following that train of thought always lead to guilt sobbing.  
Not with tears though.  
She had lost the ability to cry ever since the day she took a razor blade from the shower and sliced her thighs with it.  
Long, winding slices expressing the hatred and frustration that she had always been taught to repress deep within her head. She bled out the pain, to give her the clear head she needed to practise medicine.  
It took JD a month to realise the deep groves running across her bony legs weren't mattress indents from the constant naps she took.  
Then again, it took her two to realise the red stains up JD's scrubs weren't actually a patient's blood.  
Maybe if they didn't always have sex in the dark, one of them would have noticed sooner.  
She knew she was living dangerously.  
She'd dropped down to 98lbs. She couldn't run without feeling like she was on the verge of dropping down dead. Her heart was always pounding, and she was cold all over. Her bones protruded from everywhere, and her periods had completely stopped. Her hair had began to fall out in chunks and her nails snapped like they were made of paper.  
She barely had any thigh left to cut.  
Honestly, all she wanted to do was eat.  
But every time food entered her mind, it just stressed her out to the point of suicidal thoughts.  
She knew she had anorexia. She was a doctor, for frick's sake.  
She also knew there was nothing anyone could do for her.  
Even if she survived, there'd be lasting damage.  
JD wouldn't want her anymore. He'd be the skinny one.  
No. She couldn't have that.  
She just wanted to escape.  
The thought of ending it once and for all followed her around all the time.  
Like a silent ghost.  
Just...waiting.  
She was tired of resisting it.

And that's how she found herself on her bathroom floor, with 40 pills in her stomach and 20 more scattered around her. That's how she found herself shivering as the blood leaking from the two neat, horizontal slices engulfing her skeletal wrists drenched said scattered pills. And that's how she found her thin face splitting into the first genuine smile since she had left Sacred Heart.  
She wasn't scared, surprisingly.  
Her fear drained away with every drop of scarlet blood she lost.

Elliot Reid opened her glassy blue eyes, and ran her fingers over the crude smiley faces etched into her thighs as she bled to death in the cold bathroom, the ghost of a contented smile still touching her blue lips.


End file.
